


He Takes Just Like A Man

by faultyfriendofyours



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, McLennon, its ouchie guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29277912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultyfriendofyours/pseuds/faultyfriendofyours
Summary: It was raining from the firstAnd I was dying there of thirstSo I came in hereAnd your long-time curse hurtsBut what's worse is this pain in hereI can't stay in heretumblr request: the " DIVORCE MEETING" mclennon plz
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	He Takes Just Like A Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a prequel to He Breaks Just Like A Little Boy. but you don't have to read that one first to understand this one tho. They're just loosely connected. for closure sake... and my sake

The room was full and everyone was talking. John, however, only scraped the edge of the mahogany table. They were talking about nothing he wanted to hear and being loud about it. All the while, a snake of dread wrapped his torso and threatened to break a rib as the clock ticked loudly in his ears. It was never that loud before, was it? Surely not.

Everything, really, was ten times too loud. Voices grated his ears and the sounds of coffee being sipped and the shuffle of papers made him cringe. Someone pushed back their chair too fast, the broken wheel squealing against the floor. He pulled in a deep breath, nails digging into his palm while the other set kept at scraping. The pace was picking up and he managed to chip away at the finish. 

“John?” He didn’t bother to look up. “John, we need your input,” one of the executives was saying.

“Are you alright?” 

It was Paul’s voice that sent him into a swirling string shrouded with wrath. He had been mithering on for ages about what everyone should do next. John had said no every time before dropping into silence. He was sure the mithering had continued, all the while Paul didn’t care to ask anything else of him. He was probably happy John had shut up. And now he cared to ask if he was okay? 

If a reasonable thought had run through John’s mind it had tripped and was promptly laid out flat before it could do any good.

His muscles tensed and his brow furrowed. He couldn’t stay there, in fear he might snap from his still-present snake of pressure. He wanted everything to be over. This meeting couldn’t last a second longer. Whatever it took to end it was well worth the cost. The building could crumble to the bleeding ground, for all he cared. 

With measure but no thought, he rose to his feet, fingertips planted on the table. “Would you really like my input?” Flashing eyes found the poor soul that had dared speak to him. The executive clearly regretted every decision leading up to this moment.

He looked out to everyone else, making sure to char them with the impression of his anger. The stuffy suited men were first but he quickly turned on his bandmates.

George stared back, unrelenting, his eyes squinting to figure out what was turning John’s cogs. Ringo didn’t dare to hold his gaze, uninterested in whatever was to unfurl. Paul, now, he was different. Much like George, he did not look away. But in contrast, he already knew what would happen. He called John’s move from a mile away and that fact only poured more poison into his nerves.

“Why don’t you just stop. Stop trying to hold this trainwreck together, alright? We can end it, here and now.” John leaned closer, "I want a divorce.” 

Had he meant that? He didn’t care because damn had it felt good to say.

And with that he was gone, leaving the room in dead silence. Paul snapped his mouth shut and leaned back in his chair. His chest barely moved with shallow breaths that refused to fill his lungs. His heart was beyond pounding. It was shaking his sternum and rattling his brain, intruding on every muscle in his body. Any form of cohesion slipped from his fingers and circled down the drain.

“I think… That’s enough for today,” George Martin said with an unsteady voice.

Unknowingly, Paul was already getting up to leave. He moved like a strung-up corpse of a man but moved nonetheless. People were filing past him, some saying things to him. He responded in a dead tone. The recognition that he was walking didn’t even hit until he came to the doors of the lift and had to press a button.

There was a tug at his arm that caught his attention. The world swayed before jarringly stabilizing. Mal was beside him, pitying smile and all.

“Want a ride home?”

Paul nodded as the lift arrived. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

As they made their way to Mal’s car, Paul could not turn his mind from dreadful thoughts. There was so much meaning in John’s four words. All of it more painful than he could bear.

There had been excruciatingly clear signs of the cracks and chips wearing at them all. George and Ringo had even left the band. Though they came back, it was still proof of the dire straits they were heading for. Every new chink bore into The Beatles was a step closer to Paul being stabbed with the reality of it ending. Nothing could make him let it all go and yet it was already leaving. It stormed out the door on John’s coattails. 

And what more, he had been looking at Paul when he said it. His attention did not waver to any of the others. Those words were meant for Paul. The knife that finally made contact. Their already rocky love life was officially shattered.

When the doors slammed shut and the engine roared to life Paul still managed to hold tight to his pride. He stiffened his entire body as the car rolled down the road. All too soon he began to ache all over, his lungs refusing air until he gave in. 

His stubbornness held out until he was severely lightheaded. Only then did the tears finally spill. Not having bothered with a seatbelt, he hunkered down. With clumps of hair knotted in his fingers, he pulled until the strain on his scalp pricked harshly at his nerves. Sitting folded over felt abruptly too claustrophobic and he sat up with a gasp, hands still in his hair, with his elbows pressed together to shield his face.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter through his tear soaked throat. Embarrassment was shoving at his dissolving pride, trying to remind it to come along to stop all this nonsense.

Mal patted Paul’s knee. “It’s alright. I’m not here to judge.”

Biting his lips together, Paul let himself fully unfurl. Limp in the seat, he let silent tears fall, punctuated with sharp inhales. Mal, all the while, sent wary glances and wavering smiles until the car finally pulled into the drive. 

His limbs still feeling limp and numb, he stumbled to his door and into his living room with Mal at his side. The flinty truth of the situation was settling with a bitterness. The battle between anxiety and exhaustion seethed along making it impossible to sit but unbearable to stand.

Paul briefly collected himself. “Can you…” He paused, seeing tears shining from Mal. “Give me a moment?”

Mal only nodded before going into the kitchen. Eventually, the sound of the sliding glass door closing made it to where Paul stood and he knew he truly had the house to himself. He peeked through the threshold, just to make sure. Yes. He was alone. A sob wracked through him and he held tight to the doorframe, forehead pressed into the wall. 

Every moment of doubt and resentment John had shown in the last two years tore at Paul. They were doomed to fail, weren't they? Paul had been so childish and naive. You couldn’t have something this good and expect it to last forever. John was not meant for Paul to hold onto. A bright and volatile sun that was bound to sear who ventured too near. 

Paul had been burnt too many times to count. He couldn’t stand another lick from the flames.


End file.
